“Where have ye been?” Mary’s voice was subdued.
“I took Fiona to Ben. Peg started bleeding badly and Ben came for help.”
“The babe?” Mary asked, clearly worried.
Nicholas rubbed the back of his neck and then looked at his hands. The child had hardly been bigger than his palms. He could still remember her cry, how tiny and fragile she had felt in his arms. He put the thought away and answered brusquely.
“Alive, as is Peg.”
Mary was silent. Nicholas stripped off his breeches. He tossed them in the corner and then pulled on another pair. He pulled a clean tunic from the chest beside the fireplace and holding it in one hand, moved to the door without once glancing at her.
“Ye are not going to stay?” She sounded hurt, but he steeled himself to ignore it.
“No.”
Nicholas heard her slide off the bed, but then nothing more. Unable to resist, he finally looked at her.
“Please don’t shut me away,” Mary whispered. She stood trembling in her shift, wreathed in white nearly head to toe, her blue eyes wide, hands folded against her chest.
A picture of innocence he did not wish to see, Nicholas turned away toward the door. “I’ll do as I see fit.”
“Like ye would have with Macleod?” Mary demanded. He clenched his jaw as he looked at her again. Her blond hair unbound, she stood with fists clenched angrily, her body silhouetted by the fire when she stepped closer. “Like ye might have with Macleod?” she said again. “Ye would kill the man no matter whether he deserved it or not. Because of me!”
Nicholas felt unbidden desire surge through him to mix with his sense of betrayal and anger. “Aye because of you,” he shot back, drawing on his own anger. “You had no call to interfere. You,” he stressed tightly, “should do as a woman should and stand back out of the way.”
“And let him kill you?” Mary sucked in a deep breath as if to calm her anger. She continued in a more subdued voice. “Was I to stand by, Highlander, and watch him run you through?”
“I had things well in hand,” Nicholas replied flatly. He watched her wring her hands, her expression one of anger, as well as fear. Still she met his gaze resolutely, breathing so rapidly her breasts rose and fell, a distraction in itself.
“Well in hand?” she demanded. “Ye were dragging in breath; yer arm was failing…”
Mary’s eyes widened when he turned toward her, marching across the room to take hold of her shoulders. He gripped her firmly, leaning over her. “I was not failing! Nor does it matter, wife. I was fighting, and to step between two men with swords is the most foolish thing I have seen you do, and you have done it twice.”
Her chest heaving, she stared at him, blue eyes wide with a ferocity of the wild cat he’d once called her. She kicked his shin, ineffective in bare feet. He laughed sourly, amused by her fury, his own barely under control. He was supposed to be able to protect her, to have her trust his judgment. She was his wife, his property, his to use as he wished. The need to possess her took control in his mind and he jerked her toward him, crushing his lips against hers in a bruising kiss. It wasn’t enough. He wanted more, needed more. Determined that she would not stop him from taking what was his, Nicholas slanted his lips over hers again as Mary struggled, pounding on his chest. Hungry for her, he let go only to grip her shift to rip the fabric away, staring at her nakedness in lustful appreciation. She was beautiful. He could not deny it, nor did he want to. Every time he looked at her, his blood grew hot.
Mary struck him, her palm flat against his cheek, the sound echoing in the stone chamber. Nicholas picked her up while she fought him valiantly, all arms and legs as she twisted in his grasp to get free. Smiling grimly, he tossed her onto the bed, climbing on it after her to pin her down. He dragged her wrists over her head, holding them with one hand while he assaulted her lips, suppressing her effort to speak, to deny him. She writhed beneath him in a way that only enflamed him further.
Nicholas pushed her hard, forcing her mouth open to accept his kiss, his nerves spiking with need. He knelt over her, trapping her between his legs, his hand still clamped on her wrists, his body closing her in beneath him. She was glorious with her hair spread wide, eyes filled not with terror as he expected but fury and something more. Her breasts were heaving as she breathed, fingernails biting into his skin as he held her hands on the bed. He shifted his grip to one hand so he could unlace his breeches and shove the remains of her shift out of the way.
“Do this, Nicholas, and it will only prove ye are the savage, uncouth barbarian all Highlanders are!” Mary complained heatedly.
Nicholas chuckled at her outrage. “That’s right, Mary. Ye knew it when ye married me and ye like it, ye cannot deny it.” He resumed his hold on her hands, palms touching, strong enough to hold her in place, focused only on his need, the fury in his blood a roar in his ears. Hard as he was he’d not last long, determined to find the relief he wanted. Using his knee, he pushed her legs apart.
Mary glared up at him, panting. “I will not deny it, Highlander. Ye’ve met yer match Nicky Mackay. Ye can do whatever ye like to me. I can take whatever ye intend because I will not let it be over between us.”
He closed his eyes, her words swirling in his head, the meaning confusing him, draining his fury. He thrust forward impatiently, impaling himself deeply. He was in control. He was… Nicholas froze; eyes closed, body rigid at the feel of her, the tightness surrounding his body. Unable to do more, he shuddered while Mary lay motionless beneath him.
He sucked in a breath. She had called him Nicky. What did that mean? He shifted his hips and heard Mary moan. Her nails bit into his hands, more than likely drawing blood. Yet he couldn’t move further, couldn’t take her in anger. Not like Macleod might have done. He grimaced at the thought.
He eased forward gently, opened his eyes to watch Mary closely as their bodies met in an age old intimacy. “Ye called me Nicky.”
Sh sighed and kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut. He nearly cursed when her body clenched around him, tugged at him, kept him from retreating. She arched and it was all he could do not to plunge into her again and again, to take her with the wildness that coursed through his blood. He forced the temptation back, gritted his teeth to regain control. She had called him Nicky, knew that meant something important. He pushed into her again, slowly, savoring the feel of her around him. He wanted so much more and groaned at the raging need to take her, but unwilling to hurt her when he did. He drew back completely and let go of her hands. Kneeling, he gripped her hips and rolled her over, drawing her back to her knees in front of him. She shivered, the movement felt in his hips as he pressed his hardness against her, smiling as she gasped faintly. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled aside her hair to kiss her below her ear.
“What does it mean, Mary?” He entered her from behind, her body slick with need. She groaned and pressed back against him.
“It means ye are mine, Nicholas,” Mary declared hoarsely. “Mine, do ye understand? I could not bear to lose ye, not when I could prevent it.”
He closed his eyes. He leaned back and gripped her hips. It was different this way: intense, erotic. Mary’s body clenched around him tightly, urging him deeper, straining Nicholas’s control. “God, Mary, you feel so good. I can’t promise to be gentle.”
He heard her laugh, watched as she tossed her head back, bracing her hands on the bed in front of her. He shuddered as the pressure to impale her raged at him. She pushed backward meeting his thrust and he could do no more. He let go of his control and pounded into her, taking her as fully as he could. She did not cry out but only moaned, the sounds muffled by the pillow.
Pressure built inside him, the wave of release was so close all he needed to do was thrust a few more times. He slowed instead, gentling the motion of his body, drawing out his release as she whimpered her need beneath him. Slowly, his body clamoring for more, he resisted, easing into her until Mary was gasping, pushing against him wi
th want, her body contracting with her release. The waves riding him sent him over the edge, the onslaught so powerful he wanted to shout it to the world, but instead, he clenched his teeth against the outburst.
Spent, he leaned against her for a moment, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. Anger returned in a rush, anger at himself for using her, anger still at what she had done, to him, to his control. Nicholas rolled off the bed to lace his breeches. Mary collapsed on her stomach to lay still, her face hidden by her hair and part of the pillow. He strode to the door but then paused to look back. Mary remained curled tightly on the bed. Troubled, Nicholas left the room and firmly shut the door.
Chapter 20
Sebastian stood at the window of the store room/ guest room. Cleaned of the long years of debris, it was once again useful. He glanced at the sky, appeased to see the clouds had cleared away to leave the sky lit brightly with stars. Rose was out there somewhere, hopefully back in her small cottage tucked safely away from all eyes. He had left her when all he wanted was to carry her off to some soft bed somewhere to make her his in all ways possible.
It was not time, however. Events had interceded to hold him at bay. He did have to thank her for alerting him of Macleod’s intentions. The man had been mad to come into Mackay land determined to cause harm. If Bastian had not had Rose’s warning, his plans on abducting Nicholas and secondly, Mary, might have gone as planned.
Macleod would be more than furious if he got wind of her aid. It gave Sebastian all the more reason to retrieve her from her cottage the first chance he got. Even if he had to follow Nicholas’s suit and kidnap her. Sebastian grinned at the thought, thinking the idea not all bad. But looking back at what had happened tonight, the smile faded to one of worry. Nicholas had not handled Mary’s interference well. His silence was alarming. Still, they could do nothing for Mary; loyalty had them with Nicky, even if they did not agree with his decisions. Rory had accepted things well enough, although Fiona had looked aghast when told Mary was to stay in her room until Nicholas chose otherwise. It was to Rory’s credit she did not argue further.
Hearing the door to Nicholas’s room click shut, Bastian went to his door and peered out to see Nicholas halt in front of Hugh, who was standing outside his bedroom. The two men did not speak and Nicholas continued down the hall. Hugh leaned out of the door to watch him and then turned to see Bastian. “Trouble,” he said shaking his head.
Bastian had to agree.
***
Nicholas hurried down the steps before he turned to go back to Mary. He had not forgiven her, could not look at her without seeing her shielding Macleod. The image rekindled his fury and he stalked down the steps jerking on his tunic.
Donald sat at the head of the table with several glasses in front of him. A moment later Bastian hurried down the steps behind Nicholas drawing on a clean tunic.
“How are Peg and Ben?” Bastian asked.
“They are as well as they can be,” Nicholas answered.
“Have ye any idea what happened?” Donald held out a dram of whisky.
Nicholas tipped it back, swallowing the heady mixture. It burned his throat; made his eyes water, but it dulled his thoughts of Mary. He handed the glass back to his father. “Fiona has some ideas, but was not willing to speak of them in front of Ben.”
Donald frowned with a look at Bastian. “Where is she?”
Nicholas sat down heavily. “She has gone to the pond with Rory to bathe. We can question her when they come back.”
“And Mary?” Bastian inquired softly, moving silently to the other side of the table. He sat down as well, grey eyes direct and assessing more than what Nicholas wanted him to know.
“What about Mary,” Nicholas replied gruffly.
“I understand yer fury, son.” Donald leaned on the table, his gray eyes sharp as he looked at Nicholas. Astute and perceptive to a fault, he was chieftain of the Mackay clan for good reason. He had acted swiftly to news of Macleod’s folly, and in doing so had prevented murder, yet Nicholas knew his father also looked at things from Mary’s point of view and held him accountable.
Nicholas stared at the table, jaw tight with a stubborn determination not to give in. “Good, then leave it go.”
Bastian dragged a dram toward him and sniffed the brew appreciatively. “It’s yer choice, brother. But yecan’t keep her in there forever. Besides there is no lock on the door,” he added with a faint grin.
Nicholas scowled. “I’ll decide how long she’ll stay put.” He trusted that she would obey him, needed her to do as he had ordered. If she did not, he would send her back to Drymen to live with her family there. The thought made him feel ill to think of it.
Fiona arrived at that moment, relieving Nicholas of any further questions. She noted them at the table and with a touch on Rory’s arm, moved to stand next to Donald. “Where is Hugh?”
“Still abed,” Bastian said.
Nicholas glanced over his shoulder at the stairs. Hugh was not asleep, and likely had not been for some time. Did his brother know more of what Branwen had given Peg? Doubtful, since most men cared little of such workings. They had knowledge enough to handle wounds in battle, but things such as the birthing were women’s dealings for the most part.
Fiona accepted the dram of whisky handed to her and sipped it carefully. She shivered and then sat down when Bastian patted the bench beside him.
“We have questions,” he said.
Fiona set the glass on the table. “I have no proof.”
“Of what?” Hugh asked quietly. He stood on the stair, his hair shoved back from his brow. He looked distressed, his face pale.
Fiona watched Hugh as he descended the stairs and then sat across from her, his hands splayed out on the table, his brows furrowed as he looked at her. Nicholas laid a hand on Hugh’s shoulder and nodded at Fiona.
“Branwen gave Peg something for pain,” Fiona explained quietly. “I am sure she meant well, but when Peg took it, she began to bleed within the hour Ben said.”
“So ye think perhaps she gave her something to do this?” Hugh frowned, glancing at Nicholas.
“I don’t know it is just odd,” Fiona complained. “I mean not to blame Branwen, Hugh. Perhaps she mistook something and gave her the wrong thing. She has been caring for Ann well enough. However it was, Peg seemed to be healthy. Ben insisted she was having no problems.”
Donald rubbed his neck. Bastian sat with arms folded, lips tight. Nicholas knew they waited for Hugh to speak.
“It’s a frightful claim ye make,” Hugh whispered.
Fiona moved the whisky aside and clasped her hands together. She nodded at Hugh, and then looked at Nicholas and then Donald. Rory turned away from the table and leaned over his knees, head down on his hands.
“Have there been any other instances like this?” Fiona inquired.
The men shook their heads.
“Has she been treating Ann?”
Donald stared at Nicholas and then frowned at Hugh. “Aye, she gives her a tisane nigh almost daily since the first headaches a few years ago. She says the headaches weaken Ann.”
“How was she before?” Fiona asked.
“She was fine, but for a sudden bout of pain in her head as I said. Quick like, Branwen said it was a tumor most like.”
“Without any previous symptoms,” Fiona murmured.
“Do ye believe her to be poisoning my wife?” Donald stiffened, staring at Fiona with a terrible glint in his eye.
Hugh remained staring at the table, his brows furrowed.
Nicholas stood up and moved behind his father. He laid a hand on Donald’s shoulder. “We know nothing as yet. Coincidence only, Da.”
Donald frowned and then nodded. “She’ll stop taking the tea today. We shall see how she feels in a day or two.”
Nicholas nodded. “I’d like to ride to some of the other crofters. Bastian?”
“Aye, I’d like to make sure Macleod has left us as direct
ed.”
Donald sighed. “And Mary?”
Nicholas dropped his hand. “She stays put.”
***
They found no sign of Macleod or his men. Bastian stood at the border between Mackay and Macleod lands, staring out over the green hills beyond.
“I don’t like this,” Bastian said.
Nicholas sat on his horse. He could not put away the fight with Macleod or Mary. His body ached for her still, hard as soon as he thought of her. He shifted uncomfortably, scanning the hills moodily.
Bastian tossed a rock at Nicholas. “Pay attention man.”
Nicholas scowled but focused on his brother.
“Macleod was waiting for ye,” Sebastian said. He looked at Nicholas, a frown creasing his brows, grey eyes intent on Nicholas.
“So he said.”
“He has been bent on revenge since Aodh’s death,” Bastian continued. “Ye could have done nothing to prevent his coming.”
“I don’t like to think I am that predictable.”
“All men are predictable with a new lass and a crowded keep,” Bastian noted with a smile.
Nicholas grunted.
“So get it out of yer head. Can’t change the fact he was there, or that he did what he did.”
“Easy for you to say,” Nicholas complained.
“Aye, perhaps, but I see it digging at ye. Let it go. We’ve work to do.”
Nicholas dismounted to stand beside Bastian. “Aye, what would you have me do?”
Bastian crouched down. He motioned for the three clansmen with them to come closer. “We’re a small party, one that won’t be noticed. I say we delve into Macleod doings, quiet like, to see what’s what.”
Nicholas liked the idea. It would soothe the fury smoldering inside his head. “Good idea.”
Bastian grinned. “I thought ye’d like it, but it’s dangerous work, Nicky.”
“Aye, so?”
“Ye got a woman to think about.” Bastian gripped Nicholas’s shoulder. “I mean to be serious, brother.”
Fianna Leighton - Tales of Clan Mackay Page 21
